


kiss the chef

by helicases



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confessions, Cooking, Declarations of feelings, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Stress Baking, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helicases/pseuds/helicases
Summary: It all starts when Seungkwan says, offhand, that he misses home-cooked meals.





	kiss the chef

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a message about aprons to merryofsoul, and it very quickly became my ode to food and Lee Seokmin. Please accept this mini-cookbook wrapped in a fic wrapped in more cookbooks. 
> 
> Many thanks to merryofsoul for the encouragement and tullycat (and psikeval) for the beta.

Seokmin fumbles with the pan but rights it in time to make contact with the burner. He winces when it sizzles, relaxing only when Mingyu sighs with relief beside him. Nothing spilled. It’s all fine. Seokmin remembers to breathe.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Mingyu says.

Seokmin huffs out a laugh. “So I just stir these until…” he trails off.

“Until they turn a darker green. You’ll see the change. I promise,” Mingyu says with an encouraging smile. If Mingyu believes in him, Seokmin can do this. Probably.

He stirs the vegetables with more care and focus than is probably necessary while Mingyu shuffles over to the sink to rinse dishes. He’s humming a song that he and Wonwoo were singing earlier in the day. Seokmin hums along and dumps more minced garlic into the pan.

Mingyu dries his hands and returns to hover beside Seokmin. “Looks good,” he says. “Ready to add the meat back in?”

Seokmin nods and pushes his sleeves back up. Following Mingyu’s earlier instructions, Seokmin moves the vegetables to one side of the pan and carefully pours the chicken into the empty space. Mingyu takes the bowl from his hands and leaves him to finish the stir fry. Seokmin frowns down at the contents of the pan; the stir fry looks appetizing, and Seokmin’s stomach growls. He has cooked or help cook before, sometimes for Going Seventeen or the Spin-Off series, and sometimes for a more dressed up ramyeon dinner when they don’t have much time after a busy day. Seokmin had considered himself a decent cook—he can feed himself real meals without coming down with food poisoning—so he hadn’t actively pursued self-improvement in that field. But a few weeks ago, Seungkwan had returned to the dorm from a quick trip home and regaled them with tales of extra fresh fruit and hot, home-cooked meals. He’d packed some leftovers but it said it wasn’t quite the same.

Then, earlier this week, they’d been in a restaurant for a meal and a break. Seungkwan had sighed down at his plate between conversation topics and said, offhand, “I miss home-cooked meals.”

That was how it started. That, and the growing urge to do nice things for Seungkwan—an urge which Seokmin tried not to examine too closely—pushed Seokmin to poke Mingyu until he agreed to help him learn more about cooking. Mingyu is kind enough not to say anything indicating he knows what this is about, but he isn’t kind enough to stop giving Seokmin little knowing grins. Seokmin doesn’t appreciate those as much as he appreciates the gentle instructions and somewhat exasperated patience. Mingyu has his back. 97 line forever—or almost forever, if Mingyu ever comes back to the kitchen. Seokmin hadn’t heard him leave.

As if summoned, Mingyu reappears and comes to rest his hands on Seokmin’s shoulders.

“I think it’s done?” Seokmin says, skeptical.

Mingyu studies the contents of the pan. “I think you’re right. Serve it up, DK. The table is yours.”

Seokmin carries the pan to the table using their heaviest duty pot holders. He successfully puts the pan down without burning himself or the table, but it’s a near thing because Seokmin startles when he sees Seungkwan leaning against the door frame. That must have been where Mingyu disappeared to—to get Seungkwan to the table first. Maybe Mingyu doesn’t have his back.

“What’s this?” Seungkwan asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Stir fry!” Seokmin says brightly.

“And?”

“And…rice?”

“Okay,” Seungkwan says, sliding into one of the chairs.

“Okay,” Seokmin repeats, unsettled.

The rest of the members filter in to eat if they’re not busy working on something else. Soonyoung expresses his delight and pride by heartily clapping Seokmin on the back and giving an exaggerated bow before taking his seat. Jeonghan pinches Seokmin’s cheek and ruffles his hair. Seungkwan just watches this happen before looking away. Vernon does too, for that matter. Seokmin pretends not to notice, to be disinterested in whatever is happening at Seungkwan’s end of the table. He catches Mingyu’s eye and knows the pretending is not going as well as he’d hoped.

“You did well,” Mingyu says. “Didn’t he, hyung?” He nudges Wonwoo, who turns toward them with a mouth full of rice. Wonwoo nods, swallows, and grins. “He only almost burned himself once today.”

“Our Dokyeom-ah is so hardworking and so thoughtful, helping Mingyu make a home-cooked meal like this tonight,” Jeonghan says.

“Ah, no, no,” Seokmin raises his hands defensively. “It was nothing.”

Vernon grins and winks at Seokmin when no one else is looking. Seokmin glares at him, which only makes him smile wider. Everyone eats their fill, which calms some of the stress bubbling in Seokmin’s stomach. It’s all fine. It was nothing—no trouble at all. Really.

It’s also just the beginning, especially when he spies the little smile at the corner of Seungkwan’s mouth as he puts his dishes away.

**

A few weeks pass before Seokmin has time to expend more effort than what is required to dump the contents of their dorm refrigerator into a pot. He’s gotten very good at that kind of meal, though. Even Chan says so, with the level of enthusiasm he usually reserves for broadcasts.

Seokmin hears Mingyu talk about how much he enjoys cooking, especially for the rest of them and with his family. He understood why Mingyu enjoyed it, but Seokmin thinks he gets it even more now. It’s a nice feeling: helping. Preparing a meal for the people he cares about is satisfying, especially when they’re all exhausted to the point where Jihoon looks like he might fall asleep onto his plate. Seokmin wants to help when he can.

The other members still call Seokmin their happy virus and he works hard to live up to the name. He tries his best to help bring up the mood, but he still worries that sometimes he comes across too strong. He worries he’s just too loud and too exuberant and…too much. He just wants to be enough. He wants to help, and that’s the important part, so Seokmin tries his best.

Trying his best finds him standing in a market, staring blankly at displays of fresh seafood. He’s thankful for the older couple who spot him and ask if he needs help. They patiently show him how to select the best abalone; the fresh ones are expensive and smaller than Seokmin expected, but he figures they’re worth it. Seokmin chats with the older couple for a bit and, when he reveals he’s hoping to feed a large group, follows them over to the frozen section of the market. They urge him to take home frozen abalone as well, as they would “enrich the color and flavor of the dish.” Seokmin repeats that to himself, baffled, but he thanks them profusely, arms laden with bags of abalone. He guesses he’ll see what they mean when he’s done cooking, as long as he doesn’t mess anything up.

It’s Joshua who wanders into the kitchen this time. Seokmin is elbow deep in the sink, scrubbing abalone with a toothbrush.

“Experimenting?” Joshua asks, peering into the bowl of squeaky clean abalone on the counter. Seokmin just nods. “Need any help?”

Seokmin’s grip slips and the abalone plops into the drain. He sets the toothbrush aside and reaches in to dig it out and start over. This isn’t the first time he’s nearly lost one.

“Sorry,” Joshua says, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s okay, hyung. I’ve got it,” Seokmin assures him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Joshua pats him on the shoulder and leaves him to it. Seokmin manages to free the abalone from their shells without cutting any of his fingers, and only sends one more flying across the counter. It’s a close call but no one sees him do it, so he wipes up the mess and pretends it didn’t happen.

Soon, the contents of a large pot are bubbling happily on the stovetop. Seokmin starts washing dishes by hand while he waits for the porridge to reach the right consistency. He sees why the older couple at the market insisted on adding more abalone—it definitely changed the color. They said he’d know when he got the balance right; Seokmin is hoping the greenish hue is what he was supposed to aim for because that’s what he’s got now.

When the abalone porridge is ready, Seokmin sprinkles garnish into the pot, turns off the burner, and texts the group chat. Joshua messages him back privately with several smiling emojis, so he thinks he has that hyung to thank for keeping everyone out of the kitchen for so long. Joshua can be very persuasive when he wants to be.

“Is that—?” a voice asks from beside him. Seokmin turns in time to see Seungkwan sniff the air, brow furrowed. He wrinkles his nose in concentration and suddenly Seokmin needs to say something—anything—to distract himself from how cute Seungkwan looks.

“I uh, I was just at the market and abalone was on sale,” Seokmin stammers. Seungkwan narrows his eyes at him—not upset, just calculating. “I thought I could try making jeonbokjuk, maybe.”

“Hm,” Seungkwan says.

“It might not be any good!” Seokmin adds quickly. “It’s…really green.”

Seungkwan leaves Seokmin’s side to peer into the pot. He ladles some porridge into a bowl and stares down at it, silent. Seokmin is struck with the desire to do something with his hands, so he pinches more garnish out of the dish by the stovetop and sprinkles it onto Seungkwan’s bowl.

“Ta dah!” he says weakly.

“Did you know,” Seungkwan begins, “where jeonbokjuk is a particularly iconic dish?” He’s still looking at the porridge and not at Seokmin. “It’s Jeju Island.”

“Oh. Nice,” Seokmin says. His surprised laugh sounds too loud even to him. That must be why the name sounded familiar. Seokmin has been cooking for all of his friends, but especially for Seungkwan. Of course this dish would be popular on Jeju Island, just like Seungkwan.

“It’s supposed to be this color,” Seungkwan continues.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees.

Soonyoung pops up beside them and, after they’ve both jumped in surprise, says, “BooSeokSoon. Jeonbokjuk,” stressing each syllable.

Seokmin’s answering smile is weak, but Seungkwan snickers, finally meeting Seokmin’s gaze. He nods before leaving with a small smile on his face and a bowl of jeonbokjuk in his hands. Seokmin’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. Soonyoung pats his back gently.

“It smells good,” Soonyoung says encouragingly.

“Thanks.”

Seungkwan goes back for seconds, and something in Seokmin’s chest flutters and then settles, coming home to roost somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

**

Concerts are always a rush of energy and endorphins. The schedules are rushed too, but they’ve grown accustomed to, if not comfortable with the structure. The tour in Japan is no exception. When they get home, everyone staggers to the nearest bed or flat surface in the dorm. Seokmin collapses face down on his bed and groans into a pillow. No one is around to hear him, but he can imagine the distressed protest at the loud noise. He rolls onto his back and clutches the pillow to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut.

Seokmin lays there for maybe thirty minutes before opening his eyes again. He can’t sleep. He wants to yell—he won’t, but he wants to. He punches the pillow a few times, but that doesn’t help either. Another ten minutes pass and Seokmin gives up, rolling off his bed and heading for the kitchen. It’s bread time.

He wipes the counters and starts pulling down dry ingredients, measuring utensils, large bowls, and light towels. Earlier that month, Seokmin had found a bread recipe endorsed by someone’s grandma online. It looked straightforward enough, so he bought sachets of yeast and waited for free time to give bread baking a shot. He’s still running on fumes and the residual high of a concert tour, so he figures now is as good a time as any. The dorm is quiet and baking bread is quiet too.

Seokmin mixes the first set of ingredients and drags up a stool to watch the sponge rise in a large bowl. His arms tingle from mixing by hand, but it’s worth it and didn’t wake anyone up like an electric mixer would. As the lump in the bowl swells and rises, Seokmin drums his fingers on the counter and hums to himself. He keeps reigning himself back in when he feels the humming rumble too strongly against his lips. Just because he’s awake and can maybe hear colors and the dough rising doesn’t mean anyone else needs to join him.

Once the contents of the bowl have doubled in size, Seokmin sprinkles flour on top and starts kneading—slowly and carefully at first, and then with increasing confidence with each additional cup of flour. He continues to hum quietly, tension seeping out of his shoulders and down into the bowl. As the mixture smooths out, the furrow in his brow does as well. When the flour is fully incorporated, he transfers the dough to a greased bowl, turns it a few times, and then covers it with a damp cloth.

Seokmin straightens back up and stretches before moving over to wash dishes and poke around their cabinets. He finishes quickly and still feels restless, so he goes to his room and quietly clean there too while waiting for the dough to rise.

The next step in the recipe exceeds Seokmin’s expectations for bread’s therapeutic benefits. He still hasn’t woken anyone up, so he shadowboxes to a hummed fighter theme song and then punches the dough. As it deflates, Seokmin’s smile grows.

He transfers the dough into three bread pans and leaves them to rise. Seokmin decides he’ll start by baking two loaves, leaving the third for last so there’s plenty of space between the pans in the oven. He thinks three can fit with no problem, but he’s still wide awake and willing to spread the baking out if it means he’ll have a third, backup loaf. Anything—including fucking up the first pair of loaves—is possible, especially this early in the morning. Especially for Seokmin.

The first two loaves turn out fine, filling the kitchen with their warm and comforting aroma. The third loaf, though, is perfect when he finally removes it from the oven. Seokmin taps it experimentally, and it makes the sound he thinks the recipe said it should make. The sides are a warm golden brown and the top is somehow even more golden. Seokmin stares at the loaf, trying to figure out what the color reminds him of and why it makes his chest feel tight and his eyes a little watery. He loses track of how long he sits there, contemplating the bread and the fluttery feeling that has started in his stomach.

By the time he comes back to himself, the bread is just cool enough to eat. He carefully carves off a slice and spreads strawberry jam over it. When Seokmin takes the first bite, it clicks. The sweet tang of the jam coupled with the crisp warmth of the bread makes the first tears spill over. The bread is golden and perfect and the jam is sweet and Seokmin can’t help it—he’s reminded of Seungkwan. Seokmin rubs at his eyes with his arm and then takes another bite of bread. He’s not proud of the quiet, distressed noise that escapes him, but he is very proud of this bread. It’s good like Seungkwan, and like Seokmin tries to be.

“Dokyeom-ah?” Seokmin hears someone—Jeonghan—call. He turns, blinking rapidly.

“What are you—oh.” Jeonghan crosses the kitchen to squat down beside Seokmin, who is now sitting on the floor, half a slice of bread in hand. “What’re you doing down here, Dokyeom-ah?” he asks softly.

Seokmin wordlessly holds out the slice of bread and Jeonghan takes a bite. His eyes widen and so does his smile.

“It’s good. Did you bake this?”

Seokmin nods. He points behind him at the three loaves of bread on the counter and Jeonghan nods back.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Seokmin says, and takes another bite of bread for lack of anything else to do. Another couple of tears spill over and Jeonghan reaches out to gently wipe them away.

“It’s just—this is such a good loaf of bread and _I_ made it. It’s very nice and golden and perfect and it even _sounds_ right. I’m very happy,” Seokmin insists. “I’m happy I have this loaf of bread and I’m happy I met it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jeonghan says, smile a mix of fond and perhaps amused. “You did great.” He studies Seokmin’s face for a moment and then continues, “I think he’s still awake, you know.”

“What?” Seokmin asks.

“I think he’s still awake,” Jeonghan repeats. He nods at the loaves of bread and then stands up from his squat. He smooths Seokmin’s hair down and pats him on the cheek. “Go on. And then get some sleep if you can, okay?”

“Thanks, hyung,” Seokmin says softly. He finishes his slice of bread and rubs at his eyes again before standing up. He puts the first two loaves away and then carves a few slices out of the third. Those go on a plate with a dollop of strawberry jam. Seokmin covers the rest of the loaf, takes a deep breath, and carries the plate of fresh bread out.

Jeonghan was right: Seungkwan is still awake. He’s curled up on one of the couches. Seungkwan must have moved there after Seokmin first wandered out of his room—he’d have seen him otherwise. Seungkwan looks sleepy and soft, and Seokmin swallows past the lump in his throat as he approaches the couch. He holds the plate out like an offering.

“Did you stress bake?” Seungkwan asks, squinting at Seokmin and then the bread.

Seokmin nods and holds the plate closer. “I saw that you were awake and thought maybe you’d want to try some. It’s good.” He adds, quietly and as an afterthought he meant to keep in, “I hope you like it.”

Seungkwan sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Sit, though. Please.” He pats the cushion beside him. Seokmin sinks into the couch and tears off a piece of bread. He turns the plate so the jam is facing Seungkwan and waits.

The sleepless hours filled mostly with excess nervous energy, humming, and flour are worth it for the wide eyed grin Seungkwan gives him when he takes that first bite. It’s golden and perfect.

**

Some of the members stop by a café on the way to the studios with a promise to pick up coffee or tea for everyone else. Seokmin holds the door for Joshua, who pats his masked cheek fondly, and Wonwoo, who just smiles. Minghao slips in after them and joins the line to place orders. Joshua’s sleepy gaze drops from the menu on the wall down to the warmly lit display cases of baked goods. There’s a gasp (from Joshua) and a heavy sigh (from Minghao).

“Do you think we can get a slice of cake?” Joshua asks, eyes soft and wide.

“We have work,” Wonwoo says, “and we’ll be eating later.”

Joshua sighs before continuing. “I don’t think it would hurt to just get one slice. They all look so pretty.”

Minghao makes eye contact with Seokmin and rolls his eyes. They’ve all been known to indulge their hyung from time to time—he’s extremely persuasive and once did aegyo so unexpectedly cute that it made Jeonghan choke at the table, and on camera no less—but sometimes they can’t.

“Shua-hyung,” Minghao says, hooking his chin over Joshua’s shoulder, “we don’t have a lot of time. We have to be at the studio soon to record and practice.”

Joshua looks at the rows of beautiful cakes wistfully. “Okay. Let’s get our drinks and go.”

He pivots and continues moving with the line to the till, but when he sees Seokmin, his eyes widen. Seokmin gulps and Minghao takes the opportunity to let go of Joshua and move ahead with Wonwoo.

Joshua throws an arm around Seokmin’s shoulders and asks, sweetly, “How are you this morning?”

“Good,” Seokmin says, swaying in place.

“Have you been very busy lately? I know you’re working very hard.”

Seokmin laughs and puts an arm around Joshua’s waist to support more of his weight. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know you are,” Joshua says. “Do you know what else is the best?”

Seokmin hums thoughtfully, tipping his head back to study the ceiling. The café has a rustic but industrial feel to it, with exposed beams and bricks and twinkling lights. He pauses long enough that Joshua makes an impatient noise, low in his throat.  

“Carats?” Seokmin answers.

Joshua laughs. “Other than Carats.”

Seokmin holds up a hand to tick items off a list. “My mom. Your mom. The other members’ moms.”

Joshua tugs Seokmin’s hand down to interrupt him. “Yes. But also cake.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes and reverence in his tone; Seokmin feels fond but also a little afraid.

By the time they arrive at the studio to distribute their bounty, Seokmin already has a list of possible cakes running through his head. He delivers the drinks with gusto, saving Seungkwan for last. Seokmin spins the tray around so Seungkwan can grab the cup with a tiny smiley face drawn on it. As expected, Seungkwan scowls when he sees the doodle, but he raises the cup in thanks all the same. Seokmin heads further into the studio with a bright smile on his face.

Later that week, Seokmin takes out a pan and starts preparing ingredients to make a sheet cake. Joshua had been delighted by the small, beautiful cakes at the café, but Seokmin imagines he’ll still be pleased with a large sheet cake. Joshua had turned up the charm on Seokmin all week, as if Seokmin wouldn’t bake something for any of the members if they asked. It was cute, except when Joshua heavily implied he thought Seokmin was playing favorites, and that he wished _he_ could get something nice too.

Seokmin decides on red velvet, as that one caught Joshua’s eye for the longest. Also, the food coloring is fun. Also, Joshua kept pointedly and dramatically singing Red Velvet songs whenever Seokmin was within earshot while they were waiting for the next part of their schedule to begin that week. His food prep gloves get stained pink, but that’s fun too, especially when Seungcheol comes in and tries to “help,” and instead leaves with pink streaks across both cheeks.

After letting the cake cool in the pan, Seokmin flips it over onto a large chopping board. He does a little cheer when it retains its shape and nothing crumbles off. He starts on the frosting while waiting for the cake to cool further. The recipe insists he “beat the living daylights” out of the frosting, which is also fun. It’s even more therapeutic than bread baking was.

Once the sheet cake is cool to the touch, he spreads a thin layer of frosting over it. Then he washes some berries, distributes them across the surface of the cake, and cuts the whole thing into mostly even squares. He swipes a bit of extra frosting off the corner of the chopping board with a finger and sticks that in his mouth for a taste test.

“What are you baking now?” a voice calls.

Seokmin turns, finger still in his mouth. He pulls it out with a pop and smiles wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. Seungkwan, Vernon, and Joshua are standing just inside the kitchen, waiting for an answer. Joshua’s eyes light up when he notices the sheet cake behind Seokmin.

“Red velvet cake!” Seokmin says, spreading his arms wide. He does something like jazz hands at the cake to show it off, even as he feels his face grow warm and pink with embarrassment.

“DID SOMEONE SAY CAKE?” Soonyoung yells from down the hall.

Soon the kitchen is full of boys clamoring for attention. Seokmin is glad he already pulled down some small plates and utensils because he’s not sure he’d be able to wade through the group to retrieve them now. Joshua’s eyes are so wide and excited, and Seungkwan watches him with an amused smile. Seungcheol reaches out as if to grab a piece of cake with his bare hands and Seokmin swats at him with a spatula.

“This cake is for Shua-hyung, so he gets the first slice,” Seokmin says when Seungcheol squawks at him in surprise.

Off to the side, Seungkwan’s mouth drops open—just a little, but enough for Seokmin to notice. He recovers quickly while Seokmin finishes handing Joshua the first plate.

“You baked a _whole cake_ for Shua-hyung?” Seungkwan asks. His pout is exaggerated and draws the laughter he is probably hoping for from the rest of the members. “I thought _I_ was your favorite.”

It’s an exaggerated pout but it lingers at the corners of Seungkwan’s mouth when the laughter has faded. Seokmin feels like the floor has been yanked out from under his feet. He keeps passing out cake, dependent on muscle memory. Seungkwan is still there, but he doesn’t hold his hands out to accept a slice.

Jeonghan steps in with a declaration: “We know _I’m_ Dokyeom-ah’s favorite.” He pats Seokmin on the shoulder, and Seokmin manages a wobbly smile.

Seungkwan laughs, bright but a little too loud. “We have video evidence to suggest otherwise, but that’s fine. Joshua-hyung, how’s your special cake?”

Joshua pulls his fork out of his mouth and beams at Seungkwan and then Seokmin. “It’s perfect! Thank you, DK.”

“It was nothing,” Seokmin says.

He waits until everyone is distracted by the cake and by cooing over the cake (which only makes him blush harder) before trying again. Seokmin takes a slice, puts a few extra berries on top, and slips over to where Seungkwan is standing, alone and out of the way.

“Do you want a piece?” he asks quietly.

“I’m not hungry,” Seungkwan says.

Seokmin’s heart sinks, and although he tries to keep the smile on his face, he can feel it faltering. Seungkwan raises his eyes to meet Seokmin’s. There’s a beat or two before his gaze softens. He bites his lip and then carefully takes the plate from Seokmin’s hands.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“It’s okay,” Seokmin says, and he means _I hope it’s okay._ He rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head. Seungkwan nods and takes a small bite.

Seokmin adds, “Joshua-hyung asked me to bake a cake earlier this week and I thought it would be nice,” and he means _If_ you _asked, I’d do almost anything because I think it would be nice. I think_ you’re _nice._

Seungkwan nods again and plucks a berry off the top of his piece of cake to pop it into his mouth. Some frosting stays at the corner of his lips and Seokmin instinctively reaches out slowly, carefully, to brush it away. Seungkwan tracks the movement, swallows heavily, and looks back down at his plate.

“Thanks,” he says. “Again.”

Seokmin is almost relieved when Joshua tugs him away to thank him for the cake again. He glances back over his shoulder later and sees Vernon bumping into Seungkwan and making him laugh. Seungkwan’s plate is clean and Seokmin feels a weight lift off his chest. He turns back to Joshua, who is still a little starry eyed. Seokmin takes a deep breath and smiles back at his hyung. It’s okay.

**

Seokmin spends the next few weeks immersed in cookbooks and online recipes, between scheduled events and practices and video recordings and other commitments, trying to figure out a dessert to make for Seungkwan. Everything looks too boring or too sweet or too dependent on handheld blowtorches, and it reaches the point where he starts getting too deep into his head about it, overthinking every last ingredient. He needs help. He needs a _sign_.

It comes to him in the form of Vernon loudly chanting “EGG TART! EGG TART!” on the sidewalk one afternoon. It’s bizarre, if ultimately unsurprising, how many ideas come to Seokmin and the others in the form of loud, persistent chanting. Seokmin would thank Vernon, but he doesn’t want to give anything away (except to the people he’s going to hunt down for taste and visual assistance). He also doesn’t want to deal with Vernon’s wide, knowing grin more often than absolutely necessary. It’s a very good smile, but in this context…no thank you.

On one of their off days, Seokmin wanders around the dorm in search of Minghao and, having found him, drapes himself bodily over Minghao’s back, chin digging into his shoulder. This would earn him an elbow to the kidneys from a few of the others, but to his credit, Minghao only grunts in greeting and continues reading his book. It’s actually kind of peaceful, aside from the odd resting position of Seokmin’s neck. The way they’re sitting keeps him very warm. Minghao makes a great pillow, and Seokmin would tell him so if he didn’t think it would make Minghao rethink elbowing him in the gut. Plus, Seokmin needs his help.

“What are you reading?” Seokmin asks after Minghao finishes the chapter and very deliberately closes the book.

“What do you need?”

“Hmmmm,” he hums, loudly, with his whole throat.

Minghao twitches at the sensation, ticklish, and leans away. Seokmin laughs into Minghao’s shoulder and gets poked in the forehead in retaliation.

“Stop that. What do you need?”

“How do you feel about egg tarts?” Seokmin asks.

Minghao twists in the loose circle of Seokmin’s arms and pushes him around until they’re both sitting facing each other, with legs crossed under them. Seokmin has long since stopped being confused by how quickly and efficiently Minghao can maneuver every last one of them into whatever position he considers optimal and most comfortable.

“Why do you want to know?” Minghao asks, eyes narrowed.

“If I were to make some, would you be willing to help me make sure they look and taste perfect?”

“For what? Or whom?”

Seokmin frowns and then turns that frown into a pout. Minghao grins and reaches out to poke his cheek.

“Can’t I just ask for help?” Seokmin whines.

Minghao sighs and pats Seokmin’s knee. “Yes, fine, but you’re going to have to confront it out loud eventually.”

“That’s sort of what I’ve been doing, but thank you!” Seokmin tips forward to wrap Minghao up in a hug. “Do you think Jun-hyung would help too?”

“First of all, no. That’s not what you’ve been doing. And second, probably. You go get what you need ready, and I’ll go find him. I won’t let him touch anything too important.”

Seokmin leans back to hold him at arm’s length. “It’s _all_ important, Minghao.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “Of course. Go.”

Seokmin goes.

By the time Minghao enters the kitchen, followed closely by Jun, Seokmin is pulling a bowl of chilled puff pastry dough out of the refrigerator. He’d started preparing the dough roughly twenty minutes before searching the dorm for Minghao, and had his fingers crossed that Minghao would agree to help. Thankfully, Minghao is just as sweet as he pretends not to be.

Minghao carries two chairs over near Seokmin and sits down, pulling one knee up and watching him turn out the dough. Jun peers around Seokmin to study the butter streaks in the dough, getting a dash of flour on his nose when he makes Seokmin nervous by leaning in too close. Jun glares at Minghao for laughing, but that just makes him laugh harder.

“How’s it looking?” Seokmin asks, still folding, rolling, and turning the dough.

Jun hums contemplatively. “I haven’t watched anyone do this in a while, but I’d say it looks fine.”

“Just ‘fine?’” Seokmin’s voice goes high and a little squeaky at the end.

“It’s good,” Minghao assures him. He helps Seokmin cover the folded dough and puts it away to chill for another half hour.

“So,” Jun begins. Seokmin interrupts by brushing another streak of flour across his nose. Jun goes a little cross eyed trying to frown down at the powder.

“Anyway,” he continues, “why the sudden interest in ‘perfect’ Hong Kong egg tarts?”

Seokmin starts pulling out ingredients to make the filling, partly because he needs to and partly so he doesn’t have to look at Jun or Minghao when he answers.

“I wanted to do something sweet,” he says as he pours half a cup of sugar into a bowl of hot water, stirring gently to help it dissolve faster. When he looks up again, they’re both smiling at him.

“No cake?” Jun asks, propping his chin up on one hand.

“No cake,” Seokmin laughs.

Seokmin spent enough time fretting about the surprised and hurt look on Seungkwan’s face when he said the red velvet cake was for Joshua. Seokmin maintains that he would try to cook anything for any of the members if they asked, but he knows this whole thing—and it’s a _thing_ , he knows it is—started with Seungkwan’s offhand comment about missing home-cooked meals. Everything he’s cooked that has required extra effort and research has been directly or at least tangentially for Seungkwan. There’s no point in denying that, and Seokmin knows Minghao and Jun wouldn’t let him deny it anyway. They both strongly believe it's important to say things if you mean them. Seokmin is still working on that.

The point is: he baked a cake for Joshua and he would do it again, but right now he’s going to make egg tarts and he’s going to give Seungkwan the best ones. Seokmin wants to do something sweet, so here he is, whisking ingredients together while Minghao and Jun watch.

Seokmin slowly pours the mixture through an extra fine mesh strainer, satisfied when the filling settles into a smooth, warm, sunshine yellow. Minghao and Jun bicker good-naturedly over Seokmin’s shoulders as he cuts circles out of the dough. He gives them two each to place in their own tins, and watches fondly as they carefully press forks against the rims to created fluted edges. Seokmin does the same to the rest of the tart crusts and then carefully ladles in the custard filling.

The tarts go into the oven, which Minghao had helpfully preheated for Seokmin. Minghao helps Jun transfer dishes to the sink. Seokmin takes a seat in front of the oven so he’s out of their way. The quiet murmuring of the pair at the sink helps calm the butterflies in his stomach. He relaxes enough to not panic when the shells start to puff up in the oven; Seokmin remembers he can crack the oven door so the tart shells will settle back down. Once the filling is set, Seokmin carefully pulls the trays out of the oven and deposits them on the counter.

He herds Jun and Minghao over to inspect the cooling egg tarts, and he breathes a heavy sigh of relief when twin, bright smiles bloom across their faces. Seokmin flits around the kitchen, pulling down various items he’d hidden earlier in the week. He squats to get eye level with the egg tarts, selects the three best ones, and plates them carefully and precisely. Jun and Minghao watch as he wraps the whole arrangement in pretty wax paper, sealing it at the top with an even prettier ribbon. Seokmin is glad he waited until after he was done before looking over at Jun and Minghao because they both have half an egg tart each crammed into their mouths.

“Good?” he asks, doubling over laughing. Jun gives him two thumbs up and a wide but closed mouth grin. Seokmin wipes the tears from his eyes and beams at them. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be…back.”

Minghao waves him away with a fond smile, and so he goes. Soon—too soon—Seokmin is standing in front of Seungkwan’s bedroom door, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He transfers the plate to one hand and finally knocks with the other. There’s rustling on the other side before the door swings open to reveal Seungkwan, who looks soft and rumpled, like he’d taken a nap in lieu of any other kind of break from work.

“Hi,” Seokmin says, proud when the greeting comes out steady and bright.

“Hi?” Seungkwan squints at him blearily.

“I did some more baking today and these are for you,” Seokmin says in a rush. He holds the egg tarts out like he’s offering a crown on a velvet cushion. He’s tremendously relieved that his hands are not shaking.

Seungkwan stares blankly at the ribbon, the wax paper wrapping, and what he can see of the plate. Then he leans forward and squints at the contents within. When he looks back up, he’s standing much closer than Seokmin realized.

“They’re egg tarts,” Seokmin says to fill the silence. “These are, um, the best ones. They’re for you.” He holds the egg tarts closer to Seungkwan until he takes the plate out of his hands.

“For me,” Seungkwan says, and it’s not a question.

“Yes,” Seokmin says, but it’s not really an answer—not to whatever question Seungkwan is really asking.

Seungkwan pushes the door open the rest of the way. “Well? Are you coming in? The others are out…somewhere. I don’t remember where they said they were going. I fell asleep.”

Seokmin nods and follows him inside. He sits on one of the beds and watches Seungkwan carefully unwrap the egg tarts. There’s a twitch at the corner of Seungkwan’s mouth—one that usually indicates he’d like to smile but is trying not to, for whatever reason. Seungkwan plucks one of the tarts from the plate, raises it like he’s making a toast to Seokmin, and takes a bite. The twitch stops and instead, a delighted smile blooms across Seungkwan’s face.

“Have you tried one yet?” Seungkwan asks, raising a hand to brush some of the crumbs from his lips before taking another bite.

“Ah, no,” Seokmin says. “I wanted to—” he trails off, focusing on a fixed point above and behind Seungkwan’s head.

Seungkwan finishes the first tart and levels a look at him. “Why not? What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to make sure you got the freshest egg tarts. They’re supposed to be better that way.”

Seungkwan makes an aborted sound, but Seokmin doesn’t look down fast enough to see the expression on his face before he smooths it out. Before he can say anything else, Seungkwan holds an egg tart up to Seokmin’s lips.

“Go on,” he says encouragingly, slowly bringing the tart closer until Seokmin gives in and takes a bite. The puff pastry crust is flaky and warm, and the filling is smooth and silky and just the right amount of sweet. Seungkwan is smiling at Seokmin again when he looks up.

“They’re really good,” Seungkwan says, and the rattling in Seokmin’s chest builds enough momentum to lift off and soar. “But you said these are mine, so you’re going to have to get your own.” Seungkwan pops the rest of the tart into his mouth and Seokmin laughs, loud and so very happy.

**

They hear rumors about Unexpected Q’s fixed lineup and Seokmin immediately secludes himself in his room to call in reinforcements. Or, rather, he calls one reinforcement in particular. Seokmin sits on his bed, anxiously tapping a pen against his knee while the phone rings.

“Hello?”

He does a little fist pump when he hears her voice—he got the timing right and Seungkwan’s mom is home and not currently busy. They exchange greetings and she only sounds a little amused by Seokmin’s unexpected, hushed call. She’s really very sweet, and he appreciates that now more than ever. It makes it easier for him to ask for her help. She understands. Plus, this is a phone call, so he doesn’t have to deal with the Boo Family Look that suggests she knows what’s going on and knows it better than Seokmin does. He knows what this feeling is—what he’s feeling for and about Seungkwan—but right now he’s busy and doesn’t want to think about it. Out of sight, mostly out of mind.

Seokmin takes careful notes, asks questions, jots down the names of sites and channels with similar recipes, and thanks Seungkwan’s mom profusely before finally hanging up. She makes him promise to take photos to send to her, as if he would ever do anything less. Seokmin makes her promise not to say anything to anyone and she laughs at him. He tucks the notebook under his mattress for safekeeping and takes off in search of Soonyoung.

He’s not even halfway through his first sentence when Soonyoung claps a hand over his mouth and leans in close. Seokmin makes a muffled, confused, and somewhat distressed noise against his palm, which makes Soonyoung wrinkle his nose.

“I’ll help,” he whispers, recovering quickly.

Seokmin makes another muffled noise, hoping it sounds enough like a question. Soonyoung pats the top of his head with the hand not covering his mouth.

“You know I’ll help you. I’ll always be there for you,” he says. The moment is touching and sincere enough that it’s not ruined by Soonyoung withdrawing his hand and wiping it on Seokmin’s shirt.

The plan goes like this…

Seokmin creates several secret stashes of nonperishable ingredients in a sort of emergency “go kit,” scattered across the dorm so as not to arouse suspicion. He’s got a list of markets which offer the items he has to wait to buy until right before he’s ready to use them. He’s also got Jeonghan sweet talking staff and others alike, trying to get word of an official announcement early enough for Seokmin to kickstart preparations. Seokmin has time. He is ready.

Seokmin is also incredibly nervous. He starts having the weirdest dreams—Wonwoo tells Seokmin he heard him muttering something about the freezer, zombies, and seafood in his sleep. Wonwoo doesn’t seem particularly fazed by that, but Seokmin is. He can’t be the one to give the surprise away. Not while he’s sleeping.

Minghao and Soonyoung drag Seokmin out for extra spicy ramen when it looks like he’s reaching his boiling point. He’s jittery on the ride there and still vibrating slightly when the food is served. Jeonghan calls them just as Soonyoung hits the halfway mark on his bowl.

“It’s dropping soon,” Jeonghan says quietly but clearly. “Maybe the middle of next week.”

Seokmin’s eyes go comically wide and Minghao plucks his chopsticks from his hands before they can fall to the table.

“Thank you, Jeonghannie-hyung,” Soonyoung says, which earns them an exaggerated kissy noise from the other end of the line. He hangs up for Seokmin and watches his face carefully, still sweating from the spiciness of his ramen.

“Soon,” Seokmin rasps.

“Finish your ramen,” Minghao says, patting his hand and giving his chopsticks back.

Seokmin frowns down at his bowl and Soonyoung reaches over to tip his face back up, fingers gentle beneath his chin.

“Hey,” he says, voice firm. “You’ve got this. We’re ready and it’s going to be fine.”

Soonyoung is right. Roughly half the members are busy that weekend, so Seokmin has time to prepare two different marinades. Both get buried in different parts of the refrigerator to steep. Jeonghan seems confident that midweek is the right target, so Seokmin plans a trip to the markets to search for the best and freshest blue crabs. By now, the aunties and uncles in the market have stopped asking if he needs help (because he doesn’t look quite so lost any more), but gladly offer assistance when he asks.

One of the smallest aunties keeps waving him down, exasperated, so she can speak to him without having to shout.

“You’re too tall,” she says.

“Sorry, auntie,” Seokmin tells her.

He’s more or less squatting in the aisle, but she always scopes out the best food in the market so he doesn’t mind. Also, she’s nice, albeit rather impatient. She shows him how to tell the crabs apart, and how to choose the ideal ones for the dishes he’s trying to make. She then makes him turn around so she can put some of them back and make him look for them.

“You have to practice,” she explains.

Seokmin must look distressed by the time he’s done, because she plucks extra crabs out of the pile and adds them to his bag. He bows gratefully, gets the jar of sauce she wants from off a high shelf, and then rushes to check out so he can take his prizes back to the dorm.

Soonyoung responds to his harried text with thirteen thumbs up, which hopefully means that the dorm is clear of all individuals who need to be absent for this to work. At the start of the weekend, Soonyoung, Minghao, and Jeonghan had crowded on Seokmin’s twin bed to work through logistics (and to pet Seokmin’s hair when he started getting too loud).

They’d settled on a short list of people most likely to 1) fail to keep a secret, 2) look too smug about knowing something not everyone knows and therefore give it away, or 3) accidentally share the secret with someone who would fall into the first category. From where he’d tucked himself against the wall, Minghao had suggested Jeonghan drag those people out of the dorm whenever necessary. Jeonghan had started to protest until Soonyoung shushed him with a finger to his lips.

“They’re more likely to listen to you without asking deep questions,” he’d said. “They’ll follow you around like...like baby ducklings.” Soonyoung had then flapped his arms like wings and made a face so cute Seokmin—already emotionally stretched thin from planning and hoping this would go over well—had almost cried. Soonyoung then tugged Seokmin into his lap and patted his hair until he stopped sniffling, while Jeonghan and Minghao tried to hide fond smiles.

Now, Seokmin carries the bags of live crabs into the kitchen and carefully deposits them in the freezer. Soonyoung and Minghao stay within reach but out of the way, only stepping closer when Seokmin asks for something. They keep up a low murmur in the kitchen, which settles Seokmin’s nerves enough to let him join the chatter.

He gathers all the tools, bowls, and jars he needs, and sets them aside for when the crabs are ready. Seokmin has about two hours to wait, so he consults his notebook, which contains recipes for ganjang-gejang and yangnyeom gejang, as well as lists of potential side dishes for tomorrow night’s celebratory dinner. Soonyoung and Minghao help him veto options on the list of banchan and soon they have a full menu scribbled in the back of Seokmin’s notebook. Soonyoung retrieves ingredients and tools when prompted (and only eats a few of the cucumber slices). Minghao helps chop things up and sort them into their respective mixing bowls.

The two hours pass productively and everyone is satisfied sampling the banchan. Seokmin retrieves the bag of blue crabs and puts half of them in cold water to thaw. He plucks crabs from the remaining half, carefully splits their shells, and then carries the lot of them over to the sink to clean them under cold, running water. Once half the crabs have been brushed, reassembled, and gently placed in a colander to drain, Seokmin asks Soonyoung to bring over the large, wide-mouth glass jars.The first set of crabs goes in the jars, belly up, followed closely by the marinade.

Minghao hurries those jars over to the refrigerator and hides them strategically. Seokmin takes a sip of the water Soonyoung offers him and starts preparing the second set of crabs. He separates the shells and cleans them thoroughly with a toothbrush. (Wonwoo had once asked him, with an expression of deep concern on his face, how many cooking toothbrushes Seokmin had. He was mollified when Seokmin assured him he cleaned all his food prep toothbrushes thoroughly, and replaced them when necessary.) Soonyoung and Minghao help him halve the crabs and place them in a colander in the refrigerator so they stay cool while they drain.

In assembly line fashion, the three of them wash, dry, and put used dishes and utensils away. Seokmin dries his hands and returns to the crabs. He tosses them in spicy sauce until they’re coated evenly, and transfers them to jars with more sauce spooned on top. Minghao buries those in the refrigerator as well, and Seokmin hopes he’ll be able to find them later.

When all that’s left is to wait, Seokmin sags forward against the sink in relief. Soonyoung plasters himself to Seokmin’s back and Minghao leans into his side to turn the contact into a group hug. Seokmin feels warm and grateful—he thinks they can pull this off. He knows it will be worth it.

Jeonghan’s intel and his prediction were right: Unexpected Q releases an official announcement the next day. Boo Seungkwan will be a fixed member of their cast. The photos accompanying the release show Seungkwan wearing a choker. Seokmin absolutely does not have a minor crisis about it, and Soonyoung does not laugh at him because he’s totally composed and fine and there’s no reason to laugh so hard.

Jeonghan—with minimal effort—coaxes Jun, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungkwan out of the dorm early in the day. Approximately twenty minutes after they’ve left, Soonyoung rounds up the rest of the members for an impromptu team meeting. Seungcheol looks amused by the herding of members into the living room, curling up on the couch to see how this plays out.

“I assume this is about Seungkwan,” Seungcheol says. It’s not a question.

“I think we should do something to celebrate,” Seokmin blurts out. He winces at how loud he was, but hurries on. “We’ve seen his schedule, even if we pretend we haven’t, and he’s been working really hard.”

A slow, sweet smile spreads across Chan’s face. “I think that would be nice.” They bicker a lot, but Chan genuinely likes and appreciates Seungkwan. Seokmin can relate.

And so it begins. Minghao works with a small group to put together simple, cute decorations. He scolds them when the decorations get too cute, citing Seungkwan’s aversion to aegyo as the reason to reign things in. Seungcheol helps Seokmin rearrange parts of the dorm to accommodate a thirteen member dinner party so it feels less like a regular dinner and more like a special occasion. Jeonghan texts him updates, which helps Seokmin decide when to start cooking rice and grilling meat.

When Jeonghan’s updates take on a greater sense of urgency, almost everything is in place. Minghao and Wonwoo are stringing up a banner which now—thanks to Joshua’s guidance—reads “Congratulations to Our (Unexpected) Boo.” Chan is helping by standing across the room and yelling at them until it hangs evenly across the wall.

The rest of them help set the table and scatter to wait for Jeonghan and the ducklings to return. Seokmin is covering a plate of freshly grilled meat when Minghao gets another text from Jeonghan.

“Everything looks great,” Minghao assures him quietly.

There’s the unmistakable and louder than necessary sound of Jeonghan unlocking the front door. It’s just a keypad—there’s no reason for him to be so loud, but Seokmin appreciates it. Soonyoung quickly flips all the light switches he can reach to the off position before ducking out of sight.

“Why’s it so dark in—”

“SURPRISE!” many voices (including Jeonghan’s) shout in unison. Jun, Mingyu, and Vernon echo them after a brief, confused delay.

Seungkwan stops short at the chorus of voices. Seokmin watches him take in the table—which is covered in banchan neatly arranged among a large pot of rice, a platter of grilled meat, small piles of lettuce, and large bowls holding the ganjang-gejang and yangnyeom gejang—and the banner strung up behind them. Seungkwan’s bottom lip wobbles even as he tries to school his face into a neutral but pleased expression.

“Congratulations,” Seokmin says, voice steady, when Soonyoung elbows him. “You’ve worked really hard and we’re very proud of you.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Seungkwan is crying. He pats at his eyes as he sniffles, and the thing in Seokmin’s chest seizes around his heart. Jeonghan tugs Seungkwan into a hug and rubs his back.

“He is right,” Seungcheol speaks up, pulling out a chair at the head of the table for Seungkwan. “We are very proud of you and we’re excited for you.”

Jeonghan deposits Seungkwan in the chair and continues rubbing his back until he settles. “Now, let’s all sit and enjoy this meal our dear Dokyeom-ah prepared, and let’s celebrate Seungkwan’s announcement.”

Everyone sits and, for once, waits for Seokmin to dish out the first serving before digging in. Seungkwan offers him a watery smile and a quiet word of thanks when Seokmin places a couple of marinated crabs on his plate. Just like that, the atmosphere lightens and so does the weight in Seokmin’s chest.

By the end of the night, nearly everyone has compared Seokmin’s ganjang-gejang and yangnyeom gejang to Seungkwan’s mom’s special spicy marinated crab. Vernon starts giving the crab shells and Seokmin very interested looks, which Seokmin tries to ignore by chatting animatedly with those around him.

They eat well, and Soonyoung gives elaborate and exuberant toasts in Seungkwan’s honor and with Seokmin’s help. The toasts leave Seungkwan’s cheeks rosy from smiling so hard and for so long. The trio Jeonghan dragged out of the dorm with Seungkwan in the morning whine good-naturedly about being singled out and not allowed to assist Seokmin. Mingyu insists, loudly and with great feeling, that he could have kept a secret. That only makes Seungkwan laugh harder.

As the dinner comes to an end, leaving few leftovers behind despite the quantity of food Seokmin and the team prepared, Seokmin and Soonyoung lead another round of applause. Seungkwan blushes harder, and that prompts Jeonghan to lead the group in a series of twelve quick kisses to the top of Seungkwan’s head, ignoring his loud protests. Seokmin ends up last in line, and he very carefully keeps his hands from lingering for too long on Seungkwan’s shoulders. Still, Seungkwan looks up at him at the end and Seokmin’s heart flutters.

“Congratulations,” he says, and Seungkwan’s smile goes wide and bright.

**

“It’s not my birthday,” Seokmin says, eyeing the parcel suspiciously. “It’s not _your_ birthday either.”

“That’s not important,” Jeonghan insists. He shakes the parcel at him again. “Can’t I give gifts to my dongsaengs?”

Jun enters the room then, making Jeonghan flinch and swear. Jun shrugs, as if to say he always enters rooms silently. He does, even in places where he’s wearing shoes and should therefore be louder.

“Well, are you going to open it?” Jun asks.

Seokmin huffs, but takes the gift and starts to unwrap it. “You’re being very suspicious but I guess this is—oh.”

In his hands is a soft pink apron. It’s not just any pink—it’s _their_ pink: rose quartz. He unfolds it to reveal the phrase “kiss the chef” embroidered across the chest in Korean, English, and Chinese. There’s a little iron-on Seventeen diamond patch pressed into the neckline. Seokmin’s smile goes wobbly around the edges, but he bites his lip and looks back up at Jeonghan and Jun.

“Well?” Jeonghan says.

“If you wanted a kiss, hyung, all you had to do was ask,” Seokmin grins.

Jeonghan groans loudly. “You’re so ungrateful. See if we ever do anything for you again.”

“You like it though?” Jun asks.

“I love it,” Seokmin says, and he means it.

He doesn’t get a chance to wear the apron until a few weeks later. Seokmin rubs at his eyes and pokes the rice cooker until it makes the right clicking noise to indicate that yes, it _will_ now cook the rice. He squints at the indicator lights just to make sure it’s set—he’s been burned before and opened the lid to find uncooked rice sitting in tepid water—before turning back to the spread of ingredients to use for toppings.

Seokmin is tired enough that it takes him two tries to tug the apron over his head and tie the strings behind his back. He pats the embroidery across his chest fondly and then rolls his sleeves up. Seokmin drags out several pots, pans, and skillets and starts preparing the banchan for several truly enormous portions of bibimbap. He doesn’t bother looking for their stone bowls because while dolsot-bibimbap is great, Seokmin is tired and he thinks everyone else in the dorm is too. They can handle non-sizzling dinner in regular bowls. He can sizzle it up another day.

Seokmin minces a handful of cloves of garlic, and then he minces several more because garlic is great. Next are the scallions, cucumbers, zucchinis, carrots, mushrooms, and radishes. Seokmin wipes the chopping board clean, slices marinated beef into thin strips, and puts them back in the bowl of marinade. He fires up the burners, seasons the banchan accordingly, and starts sautéing everything that needs to be sautéed. The bean sprouts and spinach get blanched, drained, and seasoned as well. He sautées the beef last so it spends as much time as possible in the marinade. While that cooks, Seokmin sets his chopsticks aside and stirs together several tablespoons each of gochujang, sugar, sesame oil, and water.

After the sauce is done, Seokmin rubs at his face with one hand and plucks a strip of beef out of the skillet with the other. That’s when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, but he’s too tired to be properly startled. When the movement finally registers as Seungkwan, he immediately reroutes the chopsticks and sample of beef over toward Seungkwan. Seokmin cups his hand under the chopsticks so nothing drips on either of them or on the floor, and hums happily when Seungkwan accepts the bite.

Seokmin turns to set his chopsticks down, but it takes him three tries to stop missing the dish. When he turns back to Seungkwan, finally empty-handed, he notices with dismay that Seungkwan is frowning. He’s frowning deeply, which makes Seokmin start to frown as well.

“Did it taste okay?” Seokmin asks. “Did I mess it up?”

Seungkwan makes this terrible, frustrated noise, and Seokmin is suddenly much more awake. He starts mentally combing through the steps he took to prep the banchan. Seokmin is not sure where he went wrong, but Seungkwan looks upset. He wants to fix that.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

Seungkwan makes that sound again, grabs the loops of Seokmin’s apron, and tugs him down. Their lips meet before Seokmin can process what is happening, and when his mind catches up, it’s flooded with white noise. All he can focus on is the feel of Seungkwan’s mouth against his, and he doesn’t want to focus on anything else.

When Seungkwan finally pulls away, Seokmin opens his eyes to see a determined but somewhat despairing look on his face. Seokmin follows Seungkwan’s gaze downward to see that he’s reading the embroidery on the apron.

“That,” Seungkwan says, “is ridiculous. ‘Kiss the chef.’ Really? Ridiculous.”

Seokmin starts to smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You,” Seungkwan continues, gripping the loops of the apron more firmly. “You look ridiculous.”

Seokmin is laughing when Seungkwan leans up to kiss him again. Their teeth click together, but Seokmin cups Seungkwan’s face in his hands and tilts their heads slightly so their mouths slot together better. The move elicits the same frustrated noise from deep in Seungkwan’s throat, but this time, Seokmin gets to kiss it away. He happily and thoroughly sets himself to the task. He thinks that without the support of Seungkwan’s body pressed against his, he would melt into the floor.

When they part again, Seungkwan’s face is glowing more than it usually is, even with the starry eyed lens through which Seokmin sees him. Seokmin gently strokes a thumb across Seungkwan’s cheekbones and just looks at him. Takes it all in.

“Was the banchan really that good?” he asks, once he feels like he can speak again.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes hard. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Seokmin says, terribly endeared. Seungkwan shoves at his chest and Seokmin pretends to stumble. That earns him another eye roll, but this one is considerably more fond.

“It was fine,” Seungkwan allows with a heavy sigh. “Why?”

Seokmin ponders that for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to buy himself some time. He knows Seungkwan is asking about the banchan, but Seokmin finds that he’s ready to answer some other questions—ones they didn’t talk about before. Ones he was all too happy to ignore.

“I want to make sure it’s perfect. I want to make sure you like it,” Seokmin says. Seungkwan cocks his head to the side, questioning, and Seokmin forges ahead. “It’s for you. I started doing all of this—trying harder to cook well, and to cook often—because you said you missed home-cooked meals. It’s been fun and I’ve learned a lot. I’ll probably keep at it, but I want to make sure you know that it started because of you. I’m not…I’m not saying this because I expect anything from you. I just wanted to let you know.”

Seungkwan’s fingers twitch around the loop of Seokmin’s apron, and the fact that he’s still standing so close makes Seokmin brave.

“I would do a lot of things for you if you asked, or even if you didn’t. I just want to,” Seokmin says. His next words are shaky, but he gets them out and that’s what counts. “I really want to. I think I might be in love with you, Seungkwan. I really like you. So much.”

Seungkwan stays quiet, releasing his hold on Seokmin’s apron and gently smoothing down the front of it. Seokmin closes his eyes and waits. He knows Seungkwan just kissed him—twice, even—but he wants to be sure he knows what Seungkwan meant by it. He’s willing to wait to find out.

“Well, that’s good news.”

“Is it?” Seokmin cracks open one eye to peer down at him.

“I might be a little bit in love with you too,” Seungkwan says, smiling.

Seokmin smiles back, reaches over to turn off the burner, and pulls Seungkwan close. They’ve got time; the food can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are interested..."Grandma VanDoren's White Bread Recipe" can be found on allrecipes. The red velvet sheet cake is from a Pioneer Woman recipe. The Woks of Life (and also my mother) taught me how to make Hong Kong Egg Tarts. Maangchi has a recipe and video for ganjang-gejang, and Korean Bapsang has recipes for jeonbokjuk, yangnyeom-gejang, and bibimbap.


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